


The Truth of Blood

by DotColorful, sorayume



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Darth Vader, Blood and Gore, Blood and Torture, Character Death, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Don't Like Don't Read, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Imprisonment, Interrogation, Past Biggs Darklighter/Luke Skywalker, Permanent Injury, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:14:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27775939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DotColorful/pseuds/DotColorful, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorayume/pseuds/sorayume
Summary: Things don't go so well during the Battle of Yavin, Luke ends up in the Empire's grasps and faces the ire of Darth Vader
Relationships: Luke Skywalker & Darth Vader
Comments: 18
Kudos: 50





	1. In the Hanger

**Luke**

“Use the Force, Luke.” A voice rang in Luke’s head. 

He squashed the feeling down; it was no time for the force business! He had to shoot down the Death Star. EVERYTHING depended on it. There was no choice. This…. this was his destiny. *That* was what was ringing in his ears. 

His heart was aching from moments before losing his lover and friend. Biggs. He had no chance to fixate on his soul’s ache though! His heart was running even quicker. He HAD to blow up the Death Star. He had to act before the Tye-Advanced behind him seized him in its crossfire.

He monitored the Navicomputer. 

Almost. There.

And AH! Luke felt the missiles go off leaving his vehicle, just as he heard R2 scream and go quiet and electricity passed through his body like a charge. HE HAD BEEN HIT.

Kriff! Oh NO, the missiles had not hit. The warm bright green light of the Death Stars laser pierced through the air toward Yavin. 

“Nooooooo” Luke exclaimed.

His cries were of scant use, Yavin 4 exploded in a luminous ball of energy, and a wave of despair hit Luke like a giant burst of wind sweeping him off a sand dune. He felt like part of his soul was being wrenched out. Rendered in two. He groaned aloud in spiritual anguish. 

_What, what’s happening._

Pain flashed everywhere, and all at once it passed. Gone. Gone like Yavin 4. All his new friends. Gone in a single burst. 

His body slumped, his will depleted. Oh, what had he done? He had failed them…. his X-wing which had been drifting under Luke’s touch suddenly jerked. He was being pulled towards the Death Star in a tractor beam. 

Oh no no no, this was not good at all. Despair took him as he slumped lower into the seat of the fighter. Nothing good could come of his life now. However short it might be.

**Vader**

The boy’s presence was… _familiar_. 

Vader hadn’t felt it before; he was certain he had never met the boy. And yet, there was something natural about it, something that he couldn’t quite understand, except the fact that he was stained with Light. 

The boy was a Jedi. 

He’d been furious when he recognized it, his anger strengthening his connection with the Force and allowing him to hit the rebel’s X-Wing. He watched with dark satisfaction as the craft fell, got pulled towards the Death Star with a tractor beam. 

_Nooooo!_

The boy’s anguish was still echoing in the Force, almost as loud and violent as the deaths of all the rebels who had expired when Yavin 4 was exterminated. _This_ should have been Vader’s focus - that after so many years, the Rebellion had subsequently been decimated. But… it wasn’t, for he could only think about the boy, about this strange _familiarity_ that his presence had. 

He craved to crush him. He wanted to know who he was and where this connection had come from, and then he wanted to hurt him, to watch him bleed and cry and beg for mercy, because that was w _hat the Jedi deserved_ , and _the boy was a Jedi--_

 _He is going to crash_ , Vader realized as he watched the X-Wing plummet down. The tractor beam would slow the fall, but the impact could still be enough to seriously injure the boy. 

He could not die. Not before Vader saw the light leave his eyes. Not before he paid for all the Jedi’s lies. 

“Ensure that the pilot is not dead when I arrive,” he barked through his commlink. The boy’s anguish, and his pain and fear, resonated through the Force and Vader drew upon it, allowing it to feed his anger. The Jedi would suffer, he decided, and so nothing could stop the next words he spoke:

“I expect him to be… _subdued_ , Admiral. Use whatever means necessary.” 

Satisfied, he tightened his fingers around the Tie’s controls, preparing to land in the Death Star’s hangar. 

_The boy would know pain,_ he thought, _and then revenge would be finally his._

**Luke**

His X-wing had been tractored into the hanger, the same hanger, the hanger full of memories and loss. 

As the shadow of the death star slowly breached the cockpit of his little fighter, Luke felt a massive lurch in his stomach of fear. This was it. This was going to be his end. There would be no escape for him this time. No hidden smuggling compartments to hide in. No Princess left to protect. No compatriots left to help. He was alone in the galaxy. 

Despair filled him as his X-wing settled in. Then he saw it. Another X-wing being pulled in at the same moment. _Wedge!_ He still had a single rebel left, he was not alone. 

A new resolution rising in him, he prepared himself to be the man he needed to be to at least have a moment to say goodbye to someone else before he was terminated.

Not waiting for the actions of the Imperials this time, he grabbed his father’s lightsaber in one hand and his blaster in the other and progressed to open his cockpit hatch.

He heard shouts from the stormtroopers inside the hanger, but he closed himself off from them, from even hearing them. His only desire was to be with his new friend. That ultimate release of a goodbye.

He jumped out to the hanger floor. Igniting the sword of light at the same moment. _Blue and orange blur. He was a shooting star!_

Sprinting across the deck, he realized no one was shooting at him. Odd. 

Wedge flipped open his own cockpit as he saw Luke approaching and shouted down to him with a shocked sound to his voice, “Luke?! Luke, what are you… what are you doing?!” 

“Coming to rescue you, I know my way around this part of the Death Star. Get down here!” 

“Um… Luke, what about your… friends?”

Luke spun and saw a large group of stormtroopers approaching him and winced. Backing up a step, holding the saber up menacingly, he tried to look like the nightmare he wanted to be to them.

“You will back off or I will use my Jedi powers to kill you all!” 

Of course he was bluffing, but THEY didn’t know that. 

With his free hand, he motioned for Wedge to jump down. He heard Wedge’s feet hit the ground. Still holding the saber aloft in front of him, Luke turned and smiled at the older man. 

In a soft whisper, he spoke “Wedge, I wanted to have someone to say goodbye to. This is it for us, huh?”

Wedge gave Luke a massive bear hug. His affection gave Luke the hope to challenge these Imperials further. 

With an outcry, he raced at them with his saber. Wedge was firing his blaster. They would take as many of the Imperials with them as possible.

**Vader**

Vader couldn’t see the boy at first - the view of the hangar was nothing but a blur of light and color, a murderous dance of laser shots. He landed his Tie; no-one was there to greet him. Every trooper that had been in the hangar was involved in the fight.

Then Vader saw him. 

He was just a boy, so very young. His orange flight suit was bright against his skin - the deep tan was enough to tell him the youth had spent a lot of time underneath the sun. 

He’s not been on the run for long, then. _Space was cold._

An unbidden memory crept up into his mind, an image of _a dust ball of a planet_ he hated so much… But it wasn’t this memory that struck him. 

It was the lightsaber.

The boy had a lightsaber. He couldn’t wield it; he held it like an untrained child, landing random hits instead of letting the Force guide his blade. It was blue - blue like his own had once been, and that angered him even more. He stepped forward, right into the exchange of fire. Blaster bolts bounced off him; it seemed the boy wasn’t alone, for another rebel was firing those shots. 

With a raise of his hand, he wrapped the Force around his troopers and pushed them away. He had no need for them now. They flew through the air and then landed somewhere, their blasters falling from their hands. He suspected some of them were dead. He didn’t pay them any attention, though - his sole focus was on the boy. 

The other rebel was still there. Now, no longer shot at by the Stormtroopers, the two pilots stood together, their backs pressed against each other in a futile attempt to shield themselves. The boy held his lightsaber ready; the other pilot had his blaster. They stood there, waiting for Vader to approach, knowing they were facing a certain death. 

_Not yet._

With a snap of his finger, he broke the other pilot’s neck. His body fell to the floor like a rag doll, his limbs lying askew. 

Slowly, he raised his eyes to look at the boy. With the other pilot gone, the rebel was now alone with Vader in the hangar. Underneath his mask, the Dark Lord smiled, reaching for his belt and unclipping his saber. 

“You are a fool if you believe you can defeat me,” he intoned as the ruby blade sprang to life. “Though I always enjoy good combat. _Now_ , will you surrender your weapon, boy… _or will you fight?_ ” 

**Luke**

At first the plan had worked surprisingly well. No: They had set themselves up together like he and Biggs once had. They were a pair of shooting stars fighting against the evil of the Empire. They were the last stand of the Alliance. The final burn out of resistance.

But like every shooting star, the light is brightest before it burns out, and burn out it did.

The tide of the battle switched as Vader arrived. Dark Armor. Dark Thoughts.

Luke steeled himself against the fear of that murderous monster coming into view. He was if honest with himself scared shitless. But the adrenaline in him was pumping and keeping that fear for overcoming him. He would die with honor and honoring his friends. He was determined.

Yet suddenly the troops were gone. Like a wave of white. Thrust against the walls and surfaces like grains of sand. Fear rooted in him for a moment. How could he fight something this strong? The warm back of his friend pressed against him, gave him hope. Made him feel he could do this. Do this to stand off against all that is dark with the last friend he had. 

Wedge whispered, “Together, for the Rebell- “and then his voice broke mid-sentence. A loud crack shuddered through Luke. Glancing up, he saw the dark lord with his glove up, fingers in a snapping position. Then the form of his friend was crumpling. 

“Wedge!? WEDGE!” Luke shouted in fear and shock as he jumped back and saw the crumpled form of the young man. His neck twisted in an unnatural position. 

Luke dropped the lightsaber he was holding, barely registering Darth Vader’s request to fight or surrender. It was like someone else was hearing the actual world. Luke’s entire universe was crumbling in. He was on his knees cradling the other man. Tears streaming down his face as he let out a holler of misery. 

That had been his last hope. He felt empty, numb. Nothing mattered. 

**Vader**

“Release him,” Vader commanded as the boy fell to his knees, cradling the pilot’s dead body. “You would do well to worry about your own fate.”

But the boy didn’t hear him - or if he did, he hid it well. There was no reaction to his words, no obedience to his command. With a flash of annoyance, he brought his still lit lightsaber to the boy’s hand, forcing him to let go of the pilot’s body. The movement was careful and calculated - the blade did not sever the Jedi’s wrist, but left painful burn marks instead. 

_Good_ , he thought as he brought his lightsaber up again. _Let him know what to expect if he does not comply._

He studied the Jedi’s face, so numb, so miserable. His tan had disappeared in those short seconds, replaced by the ghostly paleness of grief. The boy looked familiar though he didn’t know why. It didn’t matter - _he would know._ He would torture the boy within an inch of his life, force him to give all the answers he needed. The boy would know suffering, a _nd agony, and pain_ , and Vader would make sure he paid for all the Jedi’s lies.

“It was a mistake to disobey me, boy,” he intoned, holding his lightsaber above the rebel’s limp form; he knew the boy would understand the unspoken threat. “Your fate is already sealed. Your friends are dead; only you remain. Surrender, and I may make your death quick. Or disobey,” he added, his voice dangerously low. “And suffer the consequences.”

** Luke **

It felt like a million small sunburns were exploding from the back of his hand. The charred and blacked flesh smelled in a way that Luke could barely contain himself from puking in nausea in response to. He wanted to scream, but he could not. He felt like he was floating above his body. Both experiencing it and not. Disconnected from himself in inner misery.

There was no reason left to fight, he had no reason left to live. 

He obeyed.

Rising to his knees, he placed his hands in the air in a gesture of surrender.

His blue eyes glazed over in emotionless distance.

Luke was screaming at his body, “Move! Fight! Fight for the deaths of everyone you know!” But his body seemed to be not connected to the numb misery inside him. 

His mind hurled insults at the Dark Lord _I will destroy you I hate you-You are the worst creature on this planet, e chu tah!_

Yet his mouth spoke nothing. Luke had never felt so disconnected from himself. _Would he die? Had he died? Was he a ghost?_

**Vader**

The boy got to his knees, his hands up, and Vader smiled underneath his mask. 

“A wise decision,” he commented. A group of Stormtroopers entered the hangar; he gestured at them, his gaze still trained on the boy. His eyes were empty - but that would change. The pain would bring him back to full awareness; it always did. 

The troopers reached the fallen boy and grabbed him by the arms, pushing him up from the floor. They put shackles around his hands and then shoved him forward, forcing him to walk. Vader followed closely behind, making sure the boy could feel him at his back, could see his shadow looming over him. 

They were almost to the exit from the hangar when something whispered at the back of Vader’s mind. He turned around sharply, looking for the source of the sound. It was the Force - the Force was trying to show him something, _something important_ , something that he had to know--

The sudden sound of clinking metal made him understand. 

The boy’s lightsaber. 

Vader hadn’t paid it any attention when the boy had dropped it; his sole focus was on his desire to hurt the last of the Jedi then. But now, as he reached out with his arm and called the weapon to his hand, he understood why the Force was so desperate to show it to him.

It was his old… _Anakin’s_ old lightsaber. 

Rage swirled, anger burned, and before he could stop himself, he strode in the boy’s direction. He tore him from the trooper’s grasp in one movement; backhanded him in another. He didn’t give the boy any time to recover, didn’t even let him hit the floor before he landed another punch to his face. 

_“Where did you get this lightsaber?”_

**Luke**

Rough hands, rough jostling. Luke Skywalker barely noticed any of it. His heart was full of sorrow and lacking hope. Why care in this moment? 

The dark lord spoke, but Luke heard nothing as they pushed him forward. The shadow of the evil murderer of dreams was drenching into him. Darkness was eating light. What was light? But something meant to be eaten by the darkness. 

The man’s shadow loomed over Luke as they dragged away him, in all senses. This was his destiny. His heart could agree to nothing else and the force? Sang in him that indeed Darth Vader was his destiny. 

Letting out a small gargled gasp and hanging his head in defeat, Luke let the stormtroopers guide him. That was when everything changed. One moment he was roughly being escorted away by troopers to whatever doom was waiting for him, the next he was being wrenched roughly out of their grasp.

Barely having a moment to breathe, no less yelp in surprise, what felt like a wall smashed into his face, a sparkle of pain exploded in his brain. Like a firework of neurons being lit in the dark sky of his numbed brained. 

He woke from his stupor to that pain and before he could even truly process it or his body hit the ground, a fist of black came and landed squarely in his face. Everything blurred, Luke’s nose cracked from the force of the strike. Waves of pain rolled through him as his small body smashed into the hanger floor. 

A scream of pain erupted from him, and then the growling voice of Darth Vader dared to ask a question. Luke’s eyes shot up in fury at that question. The anger in him feeding off his pain. How _dare_ this _MURDERER_ ask him about his Father’s lightsaber, his namesake? The only thing he had of the man that Darth Vader had torn from him before he could be raised by him. All the times Luke would never experience, all the pain he had gone through from his Father’s absence. 

Spitting out blood that was welling in his mouth from the abuse his face had just taken. Luke aimed for Vader’s suit with the wet, sticky substance of his fresh blood. “Ben gave it to me, you murderer! You murdered him, just like everyone else worth knowing! “he shouted angrily. 

**Vader**

Vader saw red as the boy’s saliva landed on his boot. He stared at it for a moment, allowing his rage to grow inside of him, before _very slowly_ turning his helmet back to Luke. 

He kneeled over him, deliberately prolonging each movement. He released his anger into the Force and hurled it at the boy, making sure he could feel his dark rage. The rebel’s face was bloody and swollen; a large, purple bruise was already forming where Vader’s fist had collided with his cheek. There was blood spilling from his mouth, thick and bright red. Smiling, Vader reached with his hand and touched the boy’s face, staining his gloves with the scarlet liquid. 

“I shall enjoy seeing the last of the Jedi bleed to death,” he said darkly, regarding the blood on his fingers. Then, he reached out for the boy again, grasping his right wrist and holding it in a vice-like grip. 

“Obi-Wan was a fool to give you this lightsaber,” he added, his fingers tightening slightly around the boy’s wrist. “I will make sure you will never hold a Jedi’s weapon again.”

With a sharp move, he twisted the boy’s delicate wrist and crushed it in his hand. He heard the Jedi’s bones crack and shatter to pieces, too weak to withstand the pressure of Vader’s metallic limbs. The boy’s hand went limp in his grasp, his wrist smashed and twisted in an odd direction. 

“You will regret you did not die in battle, young one,” Vader promised him darkly, standing up from his crouched position. With a flick of his wrist, he gestured at the guards. 

“Take him to a cell,” he ordered, watching as the troopers again took hold of the limp boy. “I shall see you shortly,” he added before walking away with a swish of his cape. 

** Luke **

As Vader turned to face him Luke’s heart jumped to his chest. The incredibly tall man loomed over him with such great height and he felt darkness pound into him, like a thousand stinging bullets of hatred piercing his soul. He gasped in mental anguish but quickly found his himself pushing back in fear trying to escape as a leather encased hand wiped blood from his spilt lip. 

There was something extra terrifying about having Vader slowly crouch next to him, like a deadly predator ready to pounce on unsuspecting prey, but Luke was sadly very aware that he was prey and anxious about his death. The threat that Vader murmured was violent and full of imagery that somersaulted in his mind as his wrist was grabbed. 

He tried to wrench his wrist out of the firm grasp, but to no avail. The grip was too strong. He spoke of Obi-wan and that he would regret the choice to give him his father’s sword, and Luke was about to say it was his father’s with the fist tightened.

It was a sudden move, and it felt like someone was ripping his wrist off he heard and FELT the shudder of his bones cracking. At first he didn’t feel it as he watched his wrist go limp from all the bones in it cracking and twisting, He stared in horror as though it were not his own body. But then the pain came in waves, traveling up his arm and assaulted his brain. His scream that erupted from his throat was guttural and reverberated across the hanger. The protest that slipped from his lips as he felt the world darkening from utter pain was probably not heard by the dark Lord “But… I am left-handed….” 

Then the world went black from the pain of his shattered wrist meeting with the emotional pain in his mind. It was like his final straw of sanity had been plucked. Like the last drop of water in a canteen. 


	2. In the Cell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vader pushes Luke for his identity.  
> It's real dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS GRAPHIC TORTURE  
> Please take care of yourself and only read this if you want to and can handle it.  
> I have no excuses for the darkness inside this. It's darkest dark. Over 9000 Dark. You have been warned

** Luke **

He woke in a cramped cell. It was dim and dreary, certainly similar to the one he had discovered Leia in earlier that day. But this one had many chains and metal cuffs dangling from the ceiling and shackled to the wall and no durasteel bunk to sleep on. The floor was grated with narrow holes on one side, somewhat slanted in the bottom of grooves. In horror he realized these were so blood could travel down them. 

He sought to curl in a ball on the floor as he became more and more awake. His face throbbed and burned from being punched, but that was nothing compared to the sustained fierce throbbing of his hand. He peered down at his wrist in utter horror. It was irreversible damage, as far as he could tell. He would never be able to use that hand again. 

Tears streamed down his face as he came to the realization of how much bantha poodoo he truly was in. “I am sorry I failed all of you.” He whispered to himself and wept into his one able hand. 

His ankles were shackled to the wall, he recognized as his curling had failed. He was stuck keeping his legs apart in an awkward angle, but at least he was seated and not standing.

** Vader **

Vader walked down the corridor, two guards following closely behind. It had been a few hours since the boy’s capture - the Dark Lord had purposefully made him wait, taking pleasure in the rebel’s growing uneasiness. 

They reached the cell. Vader opened the doors, stepping inside, his eyes trained on the Jedi’s form. 

The boy looked  _ miserable _ . His flight suit had been taken away, now replaced with a shapeless white tunic - except, it was no longer white. There were bloodstains soaking through the material, still fresh and bright red. The boy was bleeding, trails of scarlet liquid going down his face and then slowly dripping onto the white cloth, further staining the tunic. His right hand hung limply from his sleeve, and satisfied, Vader recalled the way the boy screamed when he had crushed his wrist. 

For a moment, he simply stood in the entrance, not uttering a word. The hallway had been much brighter than the inside of the cell; from where the boy was sitting, Vader must have looked like a terrifying shadow. He could feel the boy’s growing uneasiness, more and more evident with each breath the Sith Lord took. 

Finally, he waved his hand, motioning the guards forward. They stepped into the cell and walked up to the boy, grabbing him by the arms. 

“Make him comfortable,” Vader said quietly, dark satisfaction rolling off of him. The guards pulled the boy up and placed his arms in the cuffs hanging from the ceiling. The rebel cried out as one of the restraints closed around his crushed wrist - the pressure must have made the boy feel like his hand was constantly being squeezed. He trashed against the chains, trying to free himself from their immobile grasp, but he only managed to hurt his hand even more. The movement had caused one of the bone pieces to cut through his skin, and fresh blood streamed down his arm. 

The guards stepped away, their job done. They exited the cell quickly - Vader knew they didn’t want to see what was going to happen. He didn’t pay them much attention though; his sole focus was on the boy.

The boy who now was suspended before him, hanging from the ceiling with his ankles spread apart. 

_ So vulnerable. So weak.  _

_ Just like all the Jedi had been.  _

Slowly, he walked up to the boy, stopping only when his mask was mere inches from his face. He reached out with his hand, grasping the boy’s chin, and turned his head sideways, inspecting it. 

“Such a young boy,” he mused, his voice filled with satisfaction. “It’s a shame you’re going to die so soon.” 

The rebel’s skin was damp with sweat; disgusted, Vader retreated his hand. 

“But worry not. Your death will be that worthy of a Jedi.” 

In one movement, he reached for his weapon belt and grasped a vibroblade he had prepared. He brought it up, holding it mere millimeters from the boy’s arm. 

“But first… I will know your name,” he said, his voice dark. He brought the blade even closer to the boy’s arm. The threat was evident - he would embed it in the rebel’s skin if he showed any signs of resistance. 

“I suggest -” he added, sounding almost amused. “- that you tell me soon.”

With that, he turned the vibroblade on, allowing its buzz to fill the room and the glowing light of its heated metal to reflect in his own eye plates. 

** Luke **

Time passes in undefinable quantities for Luke Skywalker. He was tired and in pain. The guards at one point came and demanded his clothing. He didn’t resist, nor did he resist when they roughly pulled a rough white tunic onto his body and left him with absolutely nothing in the cell but his broken body and heart.

Eventually, the door opened. Luke tried to pretend he was not afraid and just stare at the wall. But there standing in the doorway was Darth Vader. Every breath he took was even and deadly. Each breath making his heart skip a little faster as time drained by. Why was he just standing there? Why didn’t he enter?

Oh, Did Luke wish he had died above the Death Star, this was not a way to die. A coward alone in a cell. Finally, guards came in and ripped him from the ground and roughly slammed his body against the wall. Luke groaned in pain from the rough treatment. 

His left wrist was pushed into a thin manacle far above his head. Luke watched in fear as the guard moved to his right hand, his wrist hurt in a way that felt unimaginable already. As the guards stretched his arm up to the manacles, the loose broken bones in Luke’s hand moved and pinched more nerves and muscles. He screamed in pain, but the guards did not care whatsoever and locked his wrists into the manacle. The force of the ring closing on his broken wrist pushed a bone roughly against his hand’s skin. Luke bellowed a louder scream that was lost in his throat as that bone broke through his skin with the click of the manacle. 

Luke tried to push his hand in a way to stop the pain, sobbing and moaning loudly. Yet he was on his tippy toes and nothing he did helped aleve the pain and discomfort as the bone ripped through more of his skin. His eyes rolled back in his head and his entire body convulsed from the pain. He didn’t even notice the guards forcing his feet apart as well and binding them apart.

The pain was also so intense he had not realized Darth Vader was walking up to him. But he noticed for sure when his chin was roughly grabbed and his head turned to face the dark lord who was inches from him. If he could have been more scared, he wasn’t sure. Vader spoke words Luke could barely register about how he looked. The ache of his bruised face hurt so much under his grasp that Luke let out a sigh of relief when he let go.

The relief was briefly lived when he saw the Vibroblade held against him. Why did Vader care what his name was? Did it even matter? Maybe he had one thing to protect, one thing that was his own. He swore to himself that as long as his name was his own, he had himself. He would NOT tell Vader his name.

He almost changed his mind when Vader turned ON the Vibroblade and its heat was inches from him, threatening his arm. 

Gulping he softly said, “What does my name matter? You killed everyone I know. I am no one.”

** Vader **

Vader looked at the boy in silence, both delighted and angered at the boy’s resistance. He tilted his head sideways, releasing his sadistic amusement into the Force. 

“ _ Oh? _ ” 

And then he slashed all the way down the boy’s arm. 

Blood gushed out of the cut, deep red and dark. It was thick, so thick that it almost looked like another layer of cloth. The boy’s tunic was completely soaked in a matter of seconds, blood trickling so fast. The cut had been clean, but the blade’s vibrations had drilled into the rebel’s flesh, ripping it apart and making it unable for the wound to cauterize, despite the weapon’s heated tip. 

Vader watched the blood with sick fascination, aware that it was the blood of  _ a Jedi,  _ that it was  _ a Jedi  _ who was getting hurt. He wished he could just leave the boy like that, let him hang from the ceiling until he bled out…

But he couldn’t let it happen, not until the Jedi suffered some more. So, he brought the blade up again and pressed its heated side to the wound, intent on stopping the bleeding. 

The dark pleasure that hit him in waves of pleasure from Vader was almost palpable. Like being forced to drink a thick slurry of misery. 

Vader responded with so few words, and the heated blade was sinking into his flesh. It felt like his entire arm was being splayed in two, and he couldn’t even bear to look. His breath was coming out in hitches of fear. At first it started feeling like a deep prick and slight burning sensation, numb in response at first to the trauma, but as the blade splayed his virgin flesh, the pain followed a few inches behind.

Moans and screams escaped his lips, and he sobbed as blood poured out of him, hot and thick. And everything was that blood.His clothing soaked through and stuck to him and he felt his chest convulsing with the severity of the sobs the pain was wracking out of him. 

Then the burning sensation increased, and he felt even MORE pain as the blade’s flat surface slowly drew up his arm and seared his flesh and cauterized the wound. Even if he survived this, his right arm would never be the same again. His head spun with dizziness and his nose filled with the scent of his roasting flesh. He screamed, “Please…. ahhhh stoppppppppp.” And his moan turned into a scream as the blade seal up the last of the wound.

Vader drew the blade back, satisfied. 

“So,” he mused after a moment of silence, filled only by the boy’s pitiful moans. “I believe it’s more clear now. When I ask you a question, you answer.” 

He walked up to the boy again, holding the vibroblade right in front of his face, making sure the youth could see its bloodied edge. Slowly, he brought the blade to the other arm; he knew the boy was aware of what it meant. However, he stopped his hand mid-air, and then turned his head toward the other arm - the one he had slashed at mere seconds ago, the one he had just cauterized. 

All cuts hurt… but nothing hurts like a stab to an already wounded limb. 

Sadistically slowly, he positioned the blade above the boy’s injured arm. 

“Well, boy -” he said, looking straight into the Jedi’s eyes. “- let’s try again.”

He waited for a fee second, allowing the silence to scare the boy even further. And then…

“What. Is. Your. Name?”

**Luke**

The pain slowly became a constant throb of misery but not so piercing that Luke wasn’t aware of his situation. 

Vader was being very clear that he wanted answers and a part of Luke wanted to just tell him to end all of this. But what would he have left? He was going to die no matter what he did. Soon he would pass out from blood loss if this kept up, release would be with him soon.

He glowered at Vader as the blade approached his other arm. Tensing his left hand into a fist so the muscle was taught and the cut would be cleaner and less awful. He wanted to close his eyes, but his tear-stained cheeks stayed turned up towards Vader. Staring him down with all his inner misery. 

But then he felt it, Vader hesitated and turned from Luke to look back at his wounded arm, and Luke drew a breath in quickly as he realized what Vader planned to do. He shook his head in protest, and then he was asked once again for his last possession.

“Please… why do you CARE?! Just kill me like everyone else.” Luke pleaded.

** Vader **

The boy shook his head weakly, a terrified look on his face, and Vader smiled at the youth’s desperate attempts to escape what was soon going to happen. 

“You misunderstood me, boy,” he told him darkly. “If I simply wanted to kill you, you would be already dead.”

To emphasize his point, he pressed the blade against the boy’s wound; it was not enough to cut through the skin, but enough to cause the youth pain. 

“But this--” he continued, gesturing at the boy’s bloodied form. “This is what you have brought upon yourself the moment you first held this light saber in your hands.”

He retreated the vibroblade at that, instead reaching for the hilt of the rebel’s weapon. Ignoring the memories of his…  _ of Anakin’s  _ life, he lit the bright blue blade. 

“A fine weapon indeed,” he mused, waving the saber in front of the boy’s face. “Though the man to whom it belonged was far too weak to be worthy of possessing it.” 

Suddenly enraged that the boy dared to bring the memories of his past life to the surface, he extinguished the light saber and brought the unlit hilt to the boy’s shoulder. His thumb hovered above the switch. 

“Well, boy,” he said, pressing the weapon harder against the rebel’s arm. “If you think you deserve to possess this saber, then you must surely know to whom it belonged.”

He thought of what the boy had said, that he was given the light saber by ‘Ben’. And although Vader had never heard of the man’s name… he knew there was only one person that could have given this weapon to the youth. 

“Did Ben tell you how exactly he came to possess this saber?” He asked, readying himself to lit the weapon if the boy disobeyed. “Or… did he lie about that to you?”

**Luke**

Pain shot up Luke’s arm as Vader pressed the blade into his arm and continued ranting on about his Father’s light saber. Luke looked away waiting for the knife to pierce him once more but looked up in surprise as the knife withdrew. 

He gulped in fear as the light saber came to life, and he could feel the heat of the plasma against his skin as it drew near. Feeling waves of hatred piercing his mind.

Anger roared through him as Vader talked harshly of his father, calling him weak. He didn’t ever fear for his life as his Father’s blade was brought to his shoulder. All he felt was indignation and rage.

“Don’t talk like that about my Father you MURDERER. You know that’s his sword.” 

Luke spat. 

“You killed Ben Kenobi the same way you killed my father, and I hate you for it! So kill me like you killed them. Do it already, you coward.” 

Luke felt his anger burning deep inside him like a well of fire igniting his heart, pushing his pain down. His eyes shot daggers of hate as he hung ready to face his destiny.

** Vader **

Father. 

The sword belonged to the boy’s… father. 

Confusion shot through him - it made littl e sense. Or it… did, but not fully, because he couldn’t even begin to understand that the sword that belonged to Anakin Skywalker…

...was the boy’s father’s. 

The boy--

_ His _ boy--

_ His son.  _

The bloodied boy who was suspended before him, the boy whose hand he had crushed mere hours ago… was his son. 

He didn’t feel any emotion yet; the truth barely registered, and he was numb, unable to process it. He knew he should have felt something - be it anger or joy _ , because this was his son _ \- but he didn’t. The boy looked at him with hate, blood sliding down his face and trickling from his chin. It fell, drop by drop, into a small pool that had already begun forming underneath his feet. 

_ His son.  _

“You…” Vader hissed. “You’re a Skywalker.”

It was meant to be a question, but the Dark Lord didn’t even let the boy answer. Something snapped inside of him the moment he mentioned _ Skywalker’s name,  _ the moment he realized that it was  _ the son of Anakin Skywalker  _ who was hanging before him. 

He had destroyed that Jedi fool, had made sure that he had burned in the fires of Mustafar and would never return. But although he had done everything he could to make the Skywalker name forever disappear from the Galaxy, he had failed. The boy before him was a living proof of his fiasco. 

But twenty years ago, he had promised himself that Anakin Skywalker would never return, that he would destroy  _ every _ link to that fool. And this boy - this rebel, this  _ Jedi… _ was the last link. 

Vader had little control over what happened next. With a sudden cry of rage, he surged forward, opening the boy’s bindings and allowing his body to fall down. He didn’t give him any time to recover, though; his boot collided with Skywalker’s stomach even before the youth had a chance to draw in a breath. 

“ **A Jedi,** ” he spat, kicking the boy again. “ _ The son of Anakin Skywalker is a  _ **_Jedi_ ** _. _ ” 

Enraged, he leaned down and punched the rebel again; this time it was his back. He could feel even more blood soak the boy’s clothes, could hear the crack of his ribs as he kicked him in the chest. He could feel all of this, and he didn’t care, because it wasn’t enough. He beat the boy with wild abandon, needing to destroy his body and face, because it was Anakin’s son, and Anakin needed to be dead, and there could be nothing even slightly reminding him of-- 

He paused as Skywalker choked on blood, clearly in pain. He watched it trickle down the boy’s face and pool underneath his cheek; it smeared across the floor as Vader stepped into the puddle. 

This blood… was Anakin’s blood. 

He wanted to drain it from the boy, to see it fall down the grates in the cell’s floor, to know that nothing,  _ nothing  _ left of his old-self would continue to exist. He didn’t just want to kill the boy - he wanted to  _ crush _ him, to hurt him until there was nothing left of him. 

He wanted him to burn. 

With a quick motion, he called the vibroblade to his hand again, heating the metal blade. It grew red hot in seconds, murderous temperature radiating off it. He looked at it for a few moments, recalling the agonizing pain of the Mustafarian fires. 

And then, with wild rage, he pressed the blade against the boy’s chest. 

His skin immediately got covered in blisters and raw flesh, turning black at the burn’s edges. In a movement that was almost natural to him, that he’d grown to know so well, Vader maneuvered the blade over the boy’s chest. 

It only took a few seconds to brand him with a slave mark. 

“That’s what you are, Skywalker,” he seethed, his voice filled with rage. “ _ A slave. _ And you will always remain one; you will never be worth anything more.” 

** Luke **

There are moments in everyone’s life where they break, where they give up. Honestly, before Luke Skywalker had felt he had met that point in his life. Like he was done living and ready to die, like all the pain there was to feel had been felt and anything more was just more of the same. 

Luke Skywalker had been wrong. He had not even learned yet what pain was, for the pain he felt now was so potent and consuming there was no escaping it. There was nothing more to him left than pain.

Vader growled in hatred his Father’s name, he named Luke’s sires name as though it were the most vile name ever to have lived and the mental anguish he forced onto Luke’s unsheltered mind was just as intense as each blow to his fragile body. 

When his bond’s had been released he had fallen to the floor and his twisted and shattered wrist had bounced off the floor, another bone piercing through his skin with a howl of pain through his lips. Yet Darth Vader cared nothing for his free flowing blood. Each blow bruising and tearing at him. Further pushing him beyond his limits of pain he thought existed. He found his mind had retreated from his body; it was as though he were watching himself being beaten. Heard his own screams echoing through the cell. He could feel nothing because he felt so much. Overstimulated over the peak of its extent. 

Yet his mind was being torn apart by the rage of the man as well. And he felt his soul howling in sheer terror. Everything he was was being beaten away. 

His eyes glazing over, his skin growing pale from blood loss as the blood slowly traveled down the grooves on the cell floor towards the grate. How much blood would he lose until he died he wondered to himself?

Maybe the force would take him. He could join everyone he loved and be done with this. He surely didn’t have a reason left to live. 

Sadly, his numbness was torn asunder as the dark lord finished his brutal onslaught of assault on his body. Luke let out a sigh of relief inside. Floating in his mind, not willing to wake up from this state of bliss deep inside and unconnected from his body. 

But then the vibroblade, that accursed monstrosity, was suddenly in the hand of his tormentor. No…. no…. not this again. His Brain was ripped back to reality at the harsh suddenly change in type of pain. “Please… no…” he whispered on the air through his bruised and raw throat. 

His abuser didn’t seem to hear him as he carved a symbol on his chest, Luke knew this symbol and his brain was trying to comprehend why when Vader loudly growled with hatred that he was a slave. 

Luke’s mind revolted as he comprehended what Vader was saying, he was trying to remove Luke’s freeborn status from him. Trying to burn Luke’s freedom away into this mark on his chest. Shame and misery filled Luke. He was a Skywalker, meant to live free like his father before him. He was no slave. He couldn’t be. He had no tears left to cry, his head ached with dehydration as he lay shaking on the floor in pain and blood but he shook his head lightly and stated, “I…. willl…. die… before… I am a slave. I am Luke Skywalker. I am… FREEBORN” he croaked out the last word with as much passion and volume as he could muster. His red eyes piercing into Vader’s. His last ounce of strength spent on asserting for himself before he slumped back down into a prone fetal ball. Hoping his body would end this misery once and for all.

** Vader **

The boy looked like a slaughtered animal, but Vader could notice nothing past his rage. He was barely aware of what he was doing to his son; there were punches, kicks, fingers pressed against the wounds, hands tearing off bloodied clothes… but he couldn’t tell, couldn’t know. 

It was the boy’s quiet whisper that broke him out of his enraged state. Soundless noises, muted words that Vader would not have otherwise understood if not for the Force. There was something about being freeborn, something about death… 

...but what struck him the most was his name. 

Luke.

That was the name she had wanted. 

He looked at the pitiful boy, curled in a fetal position like a newborn child, limbs held tightly together in a futile attempt of protection. There was blood soaking through,  pooling underneath him, staining his skin and the clothes that Vader had torn off. There were scars and wounds on his body, an ugly slave mark on his chest. He was shaking; dried tears were falling lazily down his cheeks. 

His son looked  _ weak.  _

And Vader wanted to tell him. 

_ “You do not deserve the name your mother gave you.”  _

He leaned toward the boy, grasping the back of his head and pulling it to his own mask. He wanted to be sure his son heard him, that his son knew exactly what a disappointment he was. 

“You are weak, boy.  _ Worthless _ .” He continued, rage slipping out of his words. “Your mother would be ashamed of you - she deserved so much more than such a pitiful son.”

He pulled his son’s head higher, knowing how uncomfortable this position was for him. He wanted the boy to hurt, wanted to clearly see the tears and blood falling down his face. 

“And I assure you that your father…  _ wishes you were never born. _ ” 

He didn’t wait for his son’s reaction, didn’t wait to see the hurt on his face. Instead, he slammed the boy’s head to the ground, watching as he fell unconscious. 

He needed some time before he talked to his son again. 

He had to think. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well you made it through, good for you. Personally I feel this is the darkest thing I have ever RPed through. Surprisingly this is NOT the end. -sorayume

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Role Playing Fanfic between DotColorful and sorayume.  
> DotColorful is writing as Darth Vader while sorayume is writing as Luke  
> Things only get darker from here tbh... so if that is your jam then I hope you enjoy!


End file.
